#i just kept falling through

[thatlesbiancrow]

woah i rhink i just got sleep paralysis for the first time or a really fucked up dream maybe i like started to lucid dream and my brain panicked and turned it off? that was so fucking what the fuck i hated that

[copia]

THIRTY-ONE DAYS OF GHOST ⛧ DAY ONE

first song you heard — Mary On A Cross

September 1969; Papa Nihil and the beginning of the Ghost Project take to the stage at the Whiskey a Go Go club in Los Angeles, under the watchful eye of Sister Imperator. Fifty-three years later, in Tampa, Florida, Papa Emeritus the Fourth performs Mary On A Cross, unaware that he is singing the story of his parents—and that of himself.

[lunarharp]

played dragon age 2...just simple scribbles

[wonder-worker]

I've been thinking about the tragedy of Elizabeth Woodville living to see the end of her family name.

I don't mean her family with her husband, which lived on through her daughter and grandson. I mean her own.

Her sisters died, one by one, many of them after 1485. When Elizabeth died, only Katherine was left, and she would die before the turn of the century as well.

All her brothers died, too. Lewis died in childhood. John was executed. Anthony was murdered. Lionel died suddenly in the peak of Richard's reign, unable to see his niece become queen. Edward perished at war. Richard died in grieving peace. For all the violence and judgement the family endured, it was "an accident of biology" that ended their line: none of the brothers left heirs, and the Woodville name was extinguished. We know the family was aware of this. We know they mourned it, too:

“Buy a bell to be a tenor at Grafton to the bells now there, for a remembrance of the last of my blood.”

Elizabeth lived through the deposition and death of her young sons, and lived to see the end of her own family name. It must have been such a haunting loss, on both sides.

[feroluce]

Lucid Dreamer (1/2)

part 2

Gepard notices that it's been. Quiet lately. Like weirdly quiet. TOO quiet. He hasn't seen Sampo Koski in almost a week, which is about the longest he's ever been absent. And he is NOT worried. He's not! So what if they've been getting along more lately! So what if Gepard sometimes looks for him in his favorite hiding places! So what if he's been dreaming about blue hair and green eyes! It's nothing!!

But they're….strange, these dreams. Gepard doesn't usually remember what he's dreamt. It's out of his mind seconds within waking up. But these stick with him, they won't leave him be, they feel different somehow.

He dreams of Sampo bringing food to the frontlines and eating breakfast in his tent with him. Sampo always sneaks him extras. He dreams of chasing Sampo through the alleyways, Sampo sometimes letting himself be caught, Gepard sometimes catching him, and trying to ignore how it feels more like a game now more than anything else. He even dreams that Sampo tags along with him on one of his few civilian days. Sampo runs errands with him, prattles about inane bullshit while Gepard picks out groceries for the week, drags Gepard into some bakery he's never been to but he thinks Serval mentioned once.

And sometimes, it feels so close to reality, that Gepard half expects to see Sampo, shamelessly swaggering into the frontlines with all the guards' breakfast like his wanted poster wasn't only recently taken off the walls of Belobog. He's disappointed when it's always someone else instead. He tells himself his disappointment is ridiculous and if Sampo wants to go prowl around the Snow Plains or wherever he is, then fine. It's not any of his business.

…But it IS his job to investigate any unusual criminal activity relating to the frontlines. And the frontlines are Sampo's usual haunting grounds, and this is unusual activity, and Sampo IS technically a criminal, so it is absolutely part of his duty to look into this - is what Gepard tells himself the entire tram ride down into the Underground.

Natasha tells him he's gone, and Gepard has to steel himself. He knew Sampo made enemies wherever he went, there are a lot of people who would love his head on a platter, but he didn't think-

Natasha corrects him that she means literally gone. As in off-planet. Sampo always leaves her a note before he goes anywhere, so she knows not to expect any supply runs from him. He should be back in exactly two weeks. Thank the Preservation.

Gepard goes back home. He waits.

The uneasiness doesn't leave him.

"Where did you go?" Sampo stops dead in the middle of some story about Seele, and how you'd think someone with as blunt a mouth as her wouldn't have so much trouble asking a woman out, even if that woman IS the Supreme Guardian, and stares at him. He nearly fumbles his cigarette.

"Ahaha, what do you mean, I'm right here?" Sampo smiles at him the same way he always does. Gepard has no idea why he asked. It just popped out. He can never tell when Sampo is lying, anyway.

"I don't know. I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time." Gepard idly mouths at his own cigarette. He almost never smokes, but he wants to ration their stocks of Blizzard Immunity, and it helps with the cold. It's seemed colder lately, for some reason.

Gepard flicks his lighter once, twice, sighs at the third time because a metal prosthetic and thick gloves make the damn things so difficult. Sampo reaches over and wordlessly kisses the end of his cigarette to Gepard's, lighting it. "Thank you."

Nothing happens for almost a full 30 seconds. Something churns behind Gepard's ribcage. Because Sampo never leaves a "thank you" hanging. This is the part where he gives his spiel about how helpful and kind he is and Gepard either brings up how long his rap sheet was before Bronya helped clear his name, or just stares deadpan because seeing Sampo squirm is weirdly satisfying.

"…I'll be back in one more week."

Gepard jolts awake in his cot, mouth dry and eyes bleary.

The hell.

The next dream he has, Sampo looks tired. Sometimes he seems normal. Sometimes he says strange things, like how he wishes he'd gone to some restaurant in Belobog. Ate his favorite food more recently. Brought something with him. Gepard asks why he can't do that now. Where would he bring something? Sampo only shrugs. His rebuttals have less energy.

Gepard doesn't know if he wants to dream more, or less.

He ticks down the days on his calendar. Natasha hasn't told him any different. She promised she would if she got any kind of message. Sampo returns tomorrow, from whatever vacation or seedy business dealings he's been off having. He is not excited about it. He is not looking forward to it. He's not!!

Gepard falls asleep late that night, unable to settle. He dreams again.

He's alone. There are tons of people everywhere, the frontlines are always crowded. But he's alone. They all pass right by him as though he were a ghost. Gepard starts to walk before he realizes his feet are even moving.

He checks the trashcans in the dead end alley. He checks the supply crates that someone always stacks too high because they don't feel like finding more space for them. He pauses to check the soldiers that march past him, watching their footprints in the snow.

He finally finds Sampo on the rooftop along the northernmost wall, the one that looks out over the plains, towards Everwinter Hill, towards where the Stellaron had once been kept. With a full moon and an entire land of white snow, Gepard can almost see clear out to the horizon.

"Found you." Sampo stiffens, and Gepard is almost prepared for him to sprint off the roof. He doesn't. But he doesn't relax either. Gepard sits down next to him and stares out at the wastelands.

"…I fucked up." It wasn't what Gepard had been expecting. Sampo never 'fucks up,' Sampo just gets into incidents that are entirely, supposedly, not his fault and that he just happens to always be within the vicinity of.

"What did you do now?" It must be really bad if Sampo is coming to the Silvermanes for protection.

Instead, Sampo ignores his question completely. "See out over there? Right on the other side of that mountain. There's a safe house that way. It's hidden under a lot of snow and dead trees, but it's there. And in that safe house is a box full of letters. I need you to deliver those letters for me."

Gepard's brow furrows. It's a weird favor to ask. Sampo would never tell anyone where his hidden safehouses were. It defeated the whole purpose of a hidden safe house.

Something is wrong, something is really really wrong.

Gepard turns back to look at him again and startles, all of his questions dying in his throat, because the entire left side of Sampo's head is suddenly matted down, dark and sticky, his skin is dyed red red red-

"In three more months, there's gonna be something big happening." Gepard grabs Sampo's hand and it feels slick and warm against his palm. "I won't be here. So I need you to do my end of things for me." Gepard tries to keep hold, but something is fading, something is slowing, the sun is coming up but the colors are all wrong, everything feels like encroaching fog, Sampo's hand slides right through his. "I was gonna come back with my mask to finish setting the stage, but…" Gepard makes a frantic grab for Sampo's wrist, the air twists, he comes back empty-handed. "They have you. And you're the Iron Wall of Belobog. So it'll be ok."

Gepard finally manages to find his grip, snatches the front of Sampo's dark wet jacket and yanks him forward to hold onto him, and this close up, he can see it better, his colors are bleaching out, leaking outside the lines as if Sampo will become part of the background, as if he's fading into the strange fog that's been closing in on them. His fingers are already starting to feel empty again.

"Wake up."

Gepard jolts awake, uncurls his hands from where they're fisted in the blanket, scrubs the dampness off his face. Breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Today is supposed to be the day.

He throws on his civilian clothes, and he goes down to the shipyard the IPC had built. He finds a spot where he can see every person that returns to Belobog, and he waits.

And he waits and he waits and he waits.

No one he recognizes appears.

[doctorbeans]

once again thinking about cloud “there’s someone in me that isn’t me,” “i have to leave, i’m afraid I won’t be able to stop him next time,” “i’m sorry i couldn’t be your cloud,” “maybe one day you’ll get to meet the ‘real cloud,’” “i was never hunting sephiroth, he was always calling me,” “please give me a number professor,” “tell him that when you see him again, it’ll mean the world to him, okay?” “back then we got by with scraped knees,” “hey, tifa” strife.

[toastermelody]

Qualia sisters designs GO (ft shitty mockups of their donut designs)

[lelianaslefthand]

he smile :)

[deathbypufferfish]

I've been making a digital sticker book in goodnotes to copy and paste from 😋

[moonpaw]

so tired from waking up early + moving stuff over this past week and ruining my sleep schedule that i just passed out in my chair at work tonight for 2 and a half hours and gave myself a stiff neck after </3

[longagoitwastuesday]

Kusakabe, dear, you're too beautiful to be saying that kind of stuff

[hellishgayliath]

...

[unknownarmageddon]

bright, flashing lights speckled the corners of killer's vision, each burst of color washing over cross and making the grin on his face very clear.

cross, killer wasn't adverse to saying at all, was a handsome man. fuck, was he good looking, and killer told him, quite enthusiastically, how pretty he thought he was.

"S-ssso I tol' em, i ssaid, sucka saaahckrum," cross said with a stumbling cackle, swirling his half-empty cup of some overly sweet concoction, a few streams streaking down his chin as he took a messy sip, and oh, how killer wanted to lick it, but sadly, he'd already done it so many times tonight that cross would only get annoyed.

killer's stare raked over cross from head to toe, his own teeth hooked on a cup of wine. cross had called him a snob for it, but killer wasn't much of a fan of getting black out drunk, and he quite liked the smoother drinks. plus, he liked wine glasses; they snapped easily and made for great quick weapons.

cross's tux was crumpled, the tie loosened tantalizingly, the collar open enough that cross's collarbone jutted out and killer's teeth dug into the glass of his cup a little harder.

his..... whatever he was to him, cross looked ravishing, wearing a dark tuxedo, a deep red like maroon or crimson, the color of blood almost, and it made something in killer's soul tingle with want. red on white, to simplify it. killer looked him up and down, eyes lidded, the alcohol warming him from the inside out and making his already loose tongue even looser, and he butted into cross's messy rendition of a story of some fight he'd had back in his first year of uni with a junior.

"how long b'fer i can take ya home again?"

cross let out a loud snort, and gods, killer loved when cross let go like this, forgetting his anxieties, not giving a shit about something stupid like being presentable, or having an inside voice.

cross was always beautiful, but there was something stunning about seeing him cut loose from his self-imposed restraints. something that put killer in awe, to see cross wild and free.

"we ain' fuckin' goin' home," cross said, his words spilling all over the place, "not until y'tell me why, uh.."

his face scrunched, and he took a long moment to think, each second adding to the bubbling pit of laughter that started to rise in killer's gut the longer cross struggled.

he was tempted to tease him for it, but cross blurted, "why y'broughtt me hh- ...ng..."

his head hit the table before he lifted it and said, "gimme."

killer's wine glass was snatched from him, and killer gaped as cross downed the rest of his wine, and gave an uncharacteristic chuckle at killer's expression. "y'look dum."

killer gave cross a light punch, mock-outraged, "whydja do that, ya prick, i was still drinkin' that!"

cross took a smug sip of his drink, leaning onto his right arm and getting into killer's space, "i paid fer it."

that he did.

that he did.

-

they stayed there, talking, enjoying their time together, and their magic slowly burned through the alcohol until, when they were finally kicked out at closing time, they weren't really drunk anymore.

killer's snickering and cross's chuckles were fueled by the mutual joy rather than alcohol, and even though cross had regained his senses, his grin wasn't any less bright, and killer just smiled at him.

helplessly, one would even say.

"i can't believe you tried to fight that orc," cross muttered as he slid his keys into his apartment door, "he didn't do a single thing that merited a punch."

killer, leaning against the wall, gave a rough laugh, pushing off the wall, and slinking in after cross once the door opened, sauntering straight into cross's bedroom to flop onto his bed.

"he called you pretty!"

"you call me pretty too," cross said, standing in the bathroom, the door open.

"he doesn't know what he was talking about," killer chirped, his gaze running along the curve of cross's spine as cross tugged off his button up and undershirt.

"and you do?" cross asked, shooting a look over, and killer sat up, reclining on his elbows as he flashed cross a charming grin that made cross's cheeks flush a pretty lilac.

"more than most," killer said vaguely, his grin salacious and cross grumbled as he reached out and pulled the bathroom door shut, locking it, and killer cackled from the bed.

later, dressed normally now, cross stood by the bed, meticulously folding and fixing their rented suits so he could return them in good condition.

"clean freak," killer commented at the way cross slowly tucked the suits into the special hangers.

"buzzard," cross snipped back without any real heat, and he picked them up, and paused at killer's state of dress, as if he'd only just noticed it. "...why are you wearing that?"

killer looked down at himself, a self-satisfied grin on his face as he held his, or, well, cross's shirt, out, "like it? i never took ya for a cartoon guy."

killer had apparently found cross's loony toons themed pajamas; a pattern of cartoon character heads were all over it, and the pants were matching.

cross scoffed, but killer saw the faint purple, and his smile grew, though he groaned as cross said, "no, not that, i mean, you gonna stay here while i return these?"

he held up the suits and shook them a bit, and killer pouted.

hell to the no.

ten minutes later, they were climbing into cross's little old truck, killer aggressively cranking the window thing to lower it and kicking his feet up, the little cartoon characters on his clothes rippling in the wind.

killer had somehow convinced him to not only let him go out in his pjs, but for cross to go out in his own too. killer's bare feet bounced in time with the music that played, the space between them comfortable, until finally, cross slowed, and turned in to a parking lot, shifting the gearstick into park and letting the truck turn off.

the rental shop was quiet, with the hum buzz of lights overhead and a tired looking girl behind the register, droning in a bit of a lackluster voice that she'd need to confirm they were the right people and whatnot, and as cross spoke to her, trying to find his receipt, killer's attention was caught by... someone.

the girl walked off into the back, leaving cross holding the suits as she went to fetch something, and cross returned to killer's side with a yawn, his voice already taking on that low pitch it did whenever he was sleepy. "y'wanna sleep in tomorrow?"

killer tore his eyes away from the stranger, grinning, "sure thing, criss-cross, as if i'd say no ta stay in bed with ya all day."

cross snorted, elbowing killer, and opened his mouth, though the voice killer heard was most definitely not cross's.

"Odd place to be so late, Cross."

cross jerked, the warm sleepiness melting away into horror, and killer had the pleasure of watching all of cross's softness vanish into tense unease.

the stranger, the one killer had been eyeing before, not liking the way they'd been staring at him and cross, strode up to them, a rather unpleasant smile on his face as he set a hand on cross's shoulder.

"Suits, is it?" he ran a curled finger down the plastic cover that wrapped around the suits, and his smile took a wider, sharper glint, "Surely a dress would be far more suited for you, my dear."

cross cringed at that, and hot fury swelled in killer's soul.

"Though, considering how... distastefully you're dressed, I suppose wearing the wrong things is nothing new to you, hm?"

killer snatched the guy's hand, forcing it away from cross, his eyes narrowed and teeth bared as he drew cross away from him, putting himself between them, hissing through his teeth, "keep yours hands offa him."

cross's hand gripped onto killer's shoulder, squeezing tightly as he whispered, "it's fine. it's just. my, uh.."

"Father. I'm... his," the man's eyes narrowed with a hint of mocking amusement, "father, I suppose. I am XGaster."

cross's fingers were digging into killer's shoulder, and killer grit his teeth. oh, he hated this guy.

the door opened behind the register, and the girl came back, and cross plastered on a grin, giving her the suits and taking killer's hand, his words hasty, "w-well, i've, uh, i've got work tomorrow, so-"

"How cruel of you, child, to dismiss your own father so quickly," xgaster said, "Where are your manners? Come, introduce me to your..."

killer wanted to rip his throat out at the way he looked at them, at their linked hands, at cross's downcast face, and smiled wider.

"Companion," xgaster finished, that stupid grin wider, and cross swallowed, grip tightening on killer's hand.

"he's- uh.. he's--"

"i'm killer, cross's boyfriend," killer butted in, his tone flat, "and i'd appreciate it if you buzzed off so we can go home and eat."

cross hissed killer's name softly, but killer's eyes were on xgaster, giving him a smile that was more of a snarl, less a grin and more of a show of teeth.

"You'd do well to mind your tongue," xgaster started, eyelights flaring, and killer puffed his chest out, his fingers twitching, itching to pull out his knife--

"killer," cross snapped, yanking him back, looking more and more stressed the longer xgaster stood there, and cross pulled him out of the building, into the parking lot to hiss at him, "don't agitate him."

killer yanked his hand free of cross's, growling, "he's talking down at you, and you're just letting him??"

he pointed at the doors, where xgaster's tall figure stood just beyond the doors, his words clipped and irate, "you might be a doormat to him, but i'm not fuckin' bowin'."

cross opened his mouth, to apologize, to say something, and they both jerked away from the doors as they opened and cross's father stepped out, that same scheming grin on his face.

"Leaving without saying goodbye? You've become so cold to me, Cross."

killer snarled, and cross opened his mouth to protest, and xgaster just spoke over him, "I merely wanted to see what you've been doing. I've heard so little from you."

cross shut his mouth, hands fisting at his sides, shaking.

"Appalling, how little you care for family these days."

"c-come have dinner with us-," cross blurted in a rush, and killer wanted to throttle him, wanted to smack some sense into him, and judging from the look in cross's eyes, he'd probably beg him to. of course, neither of them could do much, as xgaster gave a wide grin.

"It'd be my pleasure."

-

killer despised xgaster. oh, he fucking hated him. every word he said was dripping with unpleasant intent, commenting, saying things that were so targeting, killer was surprised xgaster hadn't already pulled out a gun and shot him point blank.

"Perhaps you should consider a different vehicle, that.. truck of yours seems far too untrustworthy."

killer really really wanted to drive a knife through this guy's head.

"i can't really afford a new car," cross admitted, leading the way to the apartment. xgaster scanned every bit of the place with disapproving eyes.

"Nor proper housing, or clothing," xgaster muttered, "Had I known you were living in such... poverty, I would have come visited far sooner."

cross's shoulders slumped.

killer shouldered his way between them, turning and grinning up at the fucker, "yeah, sadly, we can't drink diamond filtered water and wipe our asses with sheets of gold like you."

xgaster's eyes flared with outrage, and killer danced away to cross's side, taking his hand, squeezing it, steadying him enough that he could unlock the door and let xgaster in.

killer pulled the door shut behind them, locking it, and flicking the latch into place, and xgaster frowned as he stood in the kitchen.

"Where is the dining room."

cross flushed in shame, "i-i don't have one, i just have. these."

he pointed at the pair of barstools, pushed in under the bar, "a table wouldn't fit in here."

"Pity. Well, I had no desire to eat," xgaster said, stalking around the kitchen, hand running along cross's appliances, "much less such low quality meals. Tell me, did you ever learn how to cook properly?"

killer bristled, "he cooks way fuckin' better than any of your stupid ass private chefs do, you pompous bastard."

xgaster shot him another glare, before clicking his tongue, "Is this the kind of crowd you associate with, Cross? Vulgar, disrespectful," those purple eyelights flicked down to killer's soul, "defective monsters?"

"i'll show you improper--"

"killer," cross interrupted, "please."

"I can't imagine you've many friends, if this is how your guests are treated."

killer really wished he could just cave xgaster's skull in, he hated the tone he used, that stupid, condescending tone.

"killer just. has a temper-" cross wrung his hands, uncharacteristically subdued, eyes downcast, probably to keep xgaster from seeing the utter rage burning there.

"Something you share in common," xgaster said pointedly, and cross's shoulders hitched up, his voice defensive in a way killer had never heard before.

"i did not do that on purpose, you know that."

"And yet, your brother remains hurt all the same."

"i didn't mean to-"

"Then why did you."

cross's teeth clicked shut, and he took a shaking breath before he said, "the only reason i did any of it, was because of you."

he pointed at his father with sharp jerks of his hand, his voice venomous, "i only lashed out because you, and you fucked up kid tried to ruin everything-"

"Don't waste your breath. I have had enough of you playing victim," xgaster snapped, "Own up to your mistakes. You can't hide from it any longer."

"i am not hiding!"

"Then why are you here, living in this impoverished closet, using a fake name, living as if you are someone you aren't? What else could that be, Sans, if not hiding," xgaster demanded, his voice booming too loudly in the small apartment.

-

killer went very very still and silent, staring at xgaster with an eerily blank expression, and cross would have asked him if he was okay, would have tried to calm him down, if his own soul weren't convulsing with a repulsion so strong, cross felt like throwing up.

"don't call me that." cross hated how his own voice trembled, how it softened into something meek, into something scared, when internally, he was starting to understand how killer found it reasonable to kill a man.

"You are my creation," xgaster said, and that was one of the things cross hated most to hear. he never wanted to have any sort of connection to xgaster, "I call you whatever I please."

"my name is cross." he was starting to tremble.

xgaster gave a mocking grin, "So you've said. However, it's an incorrect statement. Your name is S-"

"CROSS," he shouted, shouting the word so harshly that it burned in his throat, "stop calling me that-!"

"Or what, child? You'll assault me too?"

like he had attacked papyrus.

"You're not in stripes anymore, Sans. Act your age. Resorting to violence over a nickname is childish."

cross's chest was tight, his eyelights burning, and he understood why killer-

killer.

cross glanced at him, to see if he was alright, if he was unstable, and found that killer was gone.

he'd gone. where did he go? did he leave cross alone? why? why would he do that-

"You don't need to lie in the mud with worms. You do not belong here," xgaster said lowly, like a devil on his shoulder, and his hand was an uncomfortable weight on his shoulder, his voice too close, "You do not need that thing. You can be better than this, Sans."

cross whipped around, slapping xgaster's hand off, and snarling at him, "don't talk about him like that. get the hell out of my house and stay gone."

he hissed it with vitriol so harsh, it gave xgaster pause, and cross stormed away, searching for killer, loath to think that xgaster had upset him, had driven him away.

or maybe he'd left cross entirely, knowing now what kind of things haunted cross. or, hunted, more like.

cross opened the bedroom door, the last room he'd yet to check, his voice quivering, "killer-"

there was a violent crash and a roar behind him, and cross twisted, scrambling back out and gasping, his soul stopping cold, eyes wide as he watched killer topple xgaster, and plunge his knife, the one cross had locked in a closet, into xgaster's shoulder.

-

cross gaped, staring as xgaster reached a frantic hand out, desperate for the only other person there to save him, his other hand cut clean off, "San--"

cross scrambled over, and a glimmer of hope lit up xgaster's face, because surely, sure cross would take this vermin and be rid of him, and save xgaster. out of the three of them, after all, xgaster was certain his life was of importance.

he reached, anticipating the moment cross took his hand and neutralized the insane monster--

-

xgaster's out stretched hand was stepped on, kicked aside even, something in his hand crunching, and xgaster screeched, which was also promptly shut up as killer planted, a foot on his face and rammed his knife ruthlessly into xgaster's chest, three times for good measure, giving it a hard twist, grinning at the shocked gurgle.

blood spurted, pooling already, some of it dripping down killer's face from when he'd lopped off the fucker's arm, getting his vengeance.

he'd told him not to touch cross, and he hadn't listened.

killer tossed his knife aside, kicking xgaster in the face one good time, and was quickly tackled, and he grunted, stumbling back, adrenaline still thrumming in his magic, his soul singing and trilling for a fightfightfightfightfightfight but the roar calmed to a dead stop as he was dragged into a fierce hug.

"holy fuck, you- you actually-"

cross was sputtering, his voice a whisper, awed, his hands running up killer's bloodied arms and cupping his cheeks, and killer gave a sheepish grin, "my hand slipped."

cross gave a disbelieving laugh, the sound muffling as he kissed killer, and honestly, he'd never been kissed before to celebrate murdering someone, but he rather liked it.

he was dragged closer, flush against cross, a proximity he gladly accepted, his own hands around cross's waist, and he couldn't get enough of the sporadic giggles that bubbled up from cross between breathless kisses.

there was another weak gurgle, a final shuddering breath, and cross pulled back to squint down at his dead father, before breaking into semi-hysterical giggles, leaning into killer as he went weak with it, cackling, and killer held him up, struck silent at the way cross looked, cheeks smeared with red and eyes bright with unhinged joy, his face a lovely purple and smile wider than killer was used to seeing, and it was yet again hitting him how much he liked cross.

cross caught his breath, chuckling as he said, "h-he-" another snicker, "the last thing he saw was-- his dying moment is us kissing over him--"

killer burst into laughter.

-storytime anon

erm uhm uh a little rushed but also killer later on telling cross he looks good all bloody and cross being like "only you would think that" and killer is like "you never know what kinda depraved folk exist out there"

and then they kiss and also go out drinking to celebrate

YEAHHHHHHH!!!!!! BANGER!!!

[anxiety-catz]

I gotta say, it was not on my Wakfu season two bingo sheet that the cube would spit out a guy.

[theminecraftbee]

Grian is not dreaming of falling.

He should know - he dreams of falling a lot. He's so used to falling already that he thinks he's always falling a little when he's on the ground. It carries over into the night.

Sometimes, it's a nice dream. Falling is, after all, rather like flying, and ever since he got his elytra after joining Hermitcraft, he's loved flying. Sometimes, the dreams are basically just that: he is falling, except he is in control, so perhaps he is flying as the ground rushes towards him. At the last minute, he adjusts his wings and he lights a rocket and he can feel blades of grass brush his stomach as he takes off. Because it's a dream, he doesn't burn himself on it.

Sometimes, it's a bad dream. A nightmare, perhaps. He's standing on a ledge, and he steps off of it. He's standing at the top of the world, and he's pushed off of it. He's at the top of a cliff, and he closes his eyes, and he falls backwards.

In those dreams, he hits the ground, and it hurts. Sometimes the dream ends there. Sometimes it hurts a while longer instead. Probably better not to think about that too much.

Sometimes, lately, it's even been neutral. He's not flying, and he couldn't control his fall if he wanted to. He's not about to hit the ground, either. He simply falls, and has to deal with that. Those are particularly odd dreams. They're almost distressing in how little he cares for the fact he's falling, while dreaming, and how much he realizes he ought to care when he wakes up. The thing is, were Grian falling endlessly -

Well, here's the thing.

Grian is not dreaming of falling.

It feels like he is. If he lets himself drift, it's that third sort of dream. He can feel wind resistance in his elytra, but it's not enough to get proper lift on his wings. He can feel that he's definitely dropping, and there's nothing under him, and perhaps at some point he will hit the ground, but he can't see the ground, and he's beginning to wonder if there really is such a thing as 'ground' at all, and if it matters. Is it worse to keep falling? Frankly, it's hard to think so.

It's hard to think much of anything after you've been falling a while, he realizes. That's why it feels like perhaps he ought to be dreaming. Like it's that third dream, the one he's had so many times because he thinks that his brain just got used to dropping to the ground, between failed elytra tricks and dramatic ends in the desert and everything in-between.

If he closes his eyes and falls asleep, he even thinks he might dream of falling again. Maybe it will be the first kind, the ones he likes the most, the ones where he flies with such power that no force can hold him back as he drops through the air.

He shouldn't sleep. It's almost distressing, how much he isn't distressed, given that he hasn't stopped falling since he hit that button and the world fell out from under him, but -

The problem with falling only happens when you stop, and the Rift, as best Grian could tell - there was no place to stop, there.

So he just...

Reminds himself he's not dreaming.

Grian is not dreaming of falling. He is. He is falling. And at some point, he should figure out how to panic about that.

Any minute now.

Any minute.

[dbphantom]

How its been going if I'm being quite honest